


Crazy Little Thing Called Love

by Aldrich_Devourer_Of_Gods



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dorks in Love, Fluff, M/M, Valentine's Day Fluff, Wrestling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-17 22:35:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29479293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aldrich_Devourer_Of_Gods/pseuds/Aldrich_Devourer_Of_Gods
Summary: During a nap in a coffee shop is the best time to reminisce about love at first sight.
Relationships: Balthazar von Adalbrecht | Balthus von Albrecht/Jeritza von Hrym
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	Crazy Little Thing Called Love

The blond checked his phone for the umpteenth time, uncharacteristically nervous despite his usual emotionless disposition. Valentine’s Day - probably one of the shittiest holidays in existence. Emile could hardly handle the cheesy love confessions and childish date others seemed to indulge in on this supposedly  _ special _ day. The only redeeming quality about this ridiculous day is that tomorrow all the stores would contain discount chocolate ripe for the plundering. 

Yet, here he was now. Just like any one of those cliche, love-sick fools waiting for his date within a rather classy coffee shop. He almost regretted his decision. Although, the occasional stares were just as unappreciated as the brute’s latency. 

Perhaps, with his luck, the other man had lost his nerve, or had come back to his senses and realized a date with the college’s local sharp-tongued smart alec would be disastrous. Which, since he was involved, would be.

Emile let out a tired sigh, resting his head on the table with a dreary expression.  _ I knew it. Falling for someone like him would obviously lead to this.  _ He thought distantly, irritated by his own stupid emotions and lack of common sense. 

Of course. Why would the star athlete of their college give two shits about a quiet, distant bookworm who definitely did not attend his wrestling matches. Besides, it wasn’t like there weren’t hoards of fan-girls gushing over the brute. Why did it matter if he attended for his own curiosity. He was simply interested in wrestling since his old highschool did not have any sports. That’s all. The brute’s participation meant nothing to him. 

At least, that was what he kept trying to fool himself into thinking. Initially, he hated his guts. Since orientation, the brute has been nothing but a pest. An incredibly recognizable, handsome pest that sent his heart aflutter. Who wouldn’t recognize a mountain of a man with muscles to boot. Especially since he was foolish enough to attend class the first day shiftless, claiming he didn’t realize he was lacking one until someone pointed out the obvious. 

Emile had simply wanted to remain an insignificant student that never stood out nor garnered anyone’s attention. Coasting through the college his father had forced him to attend before leaving him and his brutality behind. Somehow, his quiet college life had been ruined by a shirtless bastard who had the bright idea to sit right next to him in class. What the hell. He even had the balls to ask if he could borrow one of his shirts. However much he wanted to refuse, Emile had thought at the time that at least a partially clothed brute would be less conspicuous than a shirtless one. Oh, how wrong he was. He had made the mistake of offering the brute his extra shirt he carried along with him. The man had thrown the shirt over his shoulders like some fucking shonen anime protagonist instead of doing the sensible thing of simply putting in on. Even if it wasn’t quite big enough for the man’s impressive frame, he could at least have the decency of putting his arms through the armholes. It was a loose shirt, not some leather crap. He could do it. 

“You brute. If you have no intention of properly wearing the shirt, then give it back to me.” He demanded rather coldly. For some reason, the other man had burst out laughing before properly sticking his arms through the sleeves, yet his assumption had been correct that buttoning the attire would be impossible. The warm, heartily laugh made his heart stutter, his cheeks warming in response. The odd feeling only fueled his disliking for the man sitting beside him. 

From then on, Balthus Albrecht, who he proudly introduced himself as, stuck to his side like an annoying child incapable of taking care of himself. Constantly taking portions of his carefully prepared lunch, or having to borrow everything from clothing to textbooks and notes from him. Truly, he was nothing but a headache. Yet, slowly, the blond had felt his gaze wander in the brute’s direction whenever he was passing by his wrestling practice, his usual speedy steps slowing to a leisurely stroll as he appraised the other man’s capabilities. Emile even swore that the fool flexed whenever he spotted him watching from one of his partially concealed locations. 

It was… perplexing just how quickly Balthus managed to disarm his defenses. He had always kept to himself, never allowing his true emotions to show. Yet, despite his best efforts, he would be too slow to catch a small smile from dancing on his lips. Too slow to realize how the tension within him seemed to unwind within the larger man’s presence. Too foolish to admit how he truly felt about Balthus.

“Hey… what do ya’ think ‘bout attending my next match,” Balthus had asked, rather sheepishly one day, uncharacteristically at a loss for words and unable to look him in the eyes. “I-I mean you do… o-on occasion ‘course, but this is the championship match. I’m sure with you there cheering me on, I’d do amazing… well, more than I do on a daily basis… heh… if you’re free, of course.” 

Emile was rather confused by these words. His brows had furrowed in contemplation before he simply flat out refused. “No.” The word left a bad taste in his mouth, yet nothing could prepare his heart from the crestfallen look on the brute’s face. “... Uhh, ‘course it was a stupid question. Why wouldn’t it be coming from me? I'll… just leave you alone now, Emile.” Immediately, the guilt he felt was immense.  _ Wait. Come back. _ He had pleaded, yet the words refused to leave his parched lips. 

The brute didn’t bother him after that. In fact, it felt as though he was avoiding him. Dropping out of all their shared classes, completely ignoring his wistful gaze during practice. Emile was once again completely alone. 

The passing days were bleak and colorless without Balthus. He had caught rumors of the brute’s lackluster performance during practices - absolutely dreadful for their prospects in the upcoming championship tournament. Yet, it had nothing to do with him. He simply went about his quiet campus life just as he always wanted. Emile showed no reaction to the cold shoulder and loneliness that once again engulfed his life, although he was much colder to anyone that tried to approach him, even going as far as to completely ignore his father’s phone calls.

To him, his original plan was simply set straight after months of being side-tracked by a mind-numbly handsome brute. Yet, he was surprisingly miserable. The realization that everything had  _ gone back to normal _ was absolutely sickening to the blond.

After a month of torment, he couldn’t bear it any longer. Emile decided, the day of the tournament, he would reconcile his relationship with the brute - even if he made a mockery of himself or completely ruined his chance at a quiet college life. 

On the special day Emile did his best to keep his nerves in check, yet that was impossible, even for a stoic bastard like himself. He did his best, keeping to the shadows away from the brute’s steely gaze, yet found that he was unable to properly see the mat if he did so. With an irritated huff, he made his way down onto the bleachers, finally deciding on a seat away from the rowdy masses. As soon as he took a seat, a bellowing roar reached his ears, making his flinch. His eyes locked with Balthus’s, a shit-eating grin plastered to his face. He stood from his seat on the bench, flexing before making his way into the ring for the final match of the tournament, the one that would crown the winner of the tournament. Despite his opponent’s impressive stature, Balthus easily bested him, with a brutal takedown. 

With a running leap, the damn brute bounded up to his high, corner seat with just a few steps, wrapping him in a constricting hug. “Damn, Emile! You actually came. Thank goodness… thought you actually hated me or somethin’” Balthus muttered, a small smile appearing on both their faces.

“No… quite the contrary actually. I lo-”

“EMILE.” A booming voice roused Emile from his nap. Hastily sitting up, he found Balthus sitting across from him with a bouquet of red roses. “Damn. Never took you for a public napper, darlin’” He joked, leaning over to place a soft kiss on his drool-stained lips. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”


End file.
